Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I bite my lip. The problem with Tate is, he doesn’t understand toxic parents. His family is perfect. As a couple, Gavin and Gemma are madly in love. As parents, they’ve always been there for him. He’s the only guy I know who can proudly say that his mom is his best friend. And his dad too! If anyone has a Gilmore Girls relationship, it’s Tate. He’s Rory, and both his parents are frickin’ Lorelai.
I envy him. Truly. I’d love having that sort of relationship with my parents. Hell, even just one of them. But I don’t.
Tonight was nice, though. I can’t deny that. My guard was nonexistent, and Mom didn’t strike. I’m unscathed. Happy, even.
“I had a lot of fun tonight,” I confess, albeit reluctantly.
“Then you should give her a chance. It’s never too late to repair a relationship with somebody. To try and build the kind of relationship you want with them.”
“You really believe that?”
“I do.” His hand tightens around mine. It’s comforting at first, but then he rubs the inside of my palm with his thumb, and the tone instantly shifts.
“You did a sexy thing,” I accuse.
He nods in agreement. “I did a sexy thing.”
We reach the parking lot, where he does another sexy thing by moistening his lips with his tongue.
“So.” He licks at the corner of his mouth. “I know you lost your virginity less than two weeks ago, and, well, I don’t want to throw everything at you all at once, but … how do you feel about car sex?”
“Yes,” I say instantly and tug his hand toward the Jeep.
CHAPTER 25
CASSIE
On Friday morning, I stop by the Hartley house on my way to town to drop off a stack of photographs for Mackenzie. Since we’re selling the house soon, I’ve been helping Grandma sift through the attic this week, digging through old boxes and decades’ worth of treasures. I found a box of photographs of the Beacon Hotel throughout the years, and after we scanned them so Grandma could have a digital record, she suggested choosing a few of the originals to give to Mackenzie. When I called Mac about it, she’d been over the moon. She plans to frame and hang them at the hotel, along with an original map of Avalon Bay she somehow got her hands on. The map itself is so old the paper is virtually disintegrating and they need to keep it behind protective glass, away from any moisture.
While I’m at the house, Mac and Genevieve, who has the day off, drag me to the back deck so we can go over our plans for Beach Games, which commence tomorrow. It’s a two-day affair that’s bound to get ugly if the deadly determination on my teammates’ faces is any indication.
“According to this,” Mac says, reading from her phone, “the only events that require all four team members on the field of play at the same time are sandcastles, volleyball, and the water balloon toss. The others are either two-man only, or two-man heats.”
“This is confusing,” I inform her. “And so is that scoring system on the second page of the pdf. Who the hell organized this, a ten-year-old?”
Gen snickers. “Beach Games is spearheaded by Debra Dooley. She’s the president of the Avalon Bay Tourism Board.”
“Debra Dooley sounds like a cartoon character,” Mac retorts.
“Trust me, that’s not far off. Deb has the energy levels of thirty preschoolers. Just wait.” Gen checks her own phone. “I’m down for the windsurfing and the swim. But I’d rather die than give Evan the satisfaction of watching me fall off the tightrope.”
“Oh, I’ll do that one,” I volunteer. “I know you wouldn’t think it because of these things—” I gesture to my boobs—“but somehow they aid my balance instead of toppling me over.”
Mac snickers. “I can do the tightrope. But I’m not doing the tug-of-war. Rope burn sucks.”
We look over the rest of the events, tentatively assigning players to each one. “I’ll text Zale the assignments and see if he wants to make any changes,” Mac says when we’re done. I’ve yet to meet this Zale, Mac’s new activities director, but from the way she describes him, he sounds like a blast.
“Tate and Danny will take any water sports easily,” Gen says, still looking at the list. “But if good fortune is upon us, Evan will be the one windsurfing. He’s a disaster, so there’s no way Hartley and Sons will score.”
“Speaking of Tate,” Mac says, turning to eye me. “Coop said you two are dating.”
“You needed Cooper to tell you that?” Gen demands before I can answer. She snorts loudly. “You mean the fact that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other when they were here the other night and then left early with those guilty expressions—that didn’t tip you off?”
I can’t help but laugh. “She’s got a point there.”